


My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

by iamtraassshh



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, F/F, Heart-to-Heart, Marya is scary, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unedited We Die Like Men, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtraassshh/pseuds/iamtraassshh
Summary: Hélène goes to visit Natasha after everything.
Relationships: Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

**Author's Note:**

> So this was part of a fun thingy I did with some friends where we all wrote something based on the same prompt and I highly recommend reading theirs once they're published because all of them are insanely talented.

Hélène was sitting at her vanity, gazing out the window and chewing on her lips when there was a knock at her door. Figuring it was probably some servant or messenger she called, “Come in!” 

The door squeaked open, revealing her husband, still in his fur coat and boots with tear tracks on his face. She turned around to face him, scoffing, “What do you want? Come to belittle me again? Even after you’ve banished my brother away to Petersburg you wish to inflict upon me more pain?” 

Pierre sighed and shook his head and Hélène knew that he knew what she was doing. She was picking a fight. Picking a fight because that was the only way she knew to get her anger out, anger at Pierre for sending Anatole away, anger at Anatole for being so reckless, anger at Dolokhov for enabling him, and most prominent was the anger at herself for encouraging it. 

Pierre wrung his hands, “Must I need a reason to speak with my wife?” 

Something inside Hélène twisted at the way he said “my wife” and she glared at him. 

Pierre huffed, “Fine. I wish to speak about Natasha.” 

Hélène cocked an eyebrow, “That pretty Rostova girl?” 

Pierre gritted his teeth, and Hélène could see his anger rising, “Yes, that pretty Rostova girl that your brother ruined.” 

Hélène forced herself to roll her eyes in response, she truly felt horrible over what happened to Natasha and was under no delusion of her part in it, but she would not give Pierre nor anyone the pleasure of knowing that. “Oh please, she’s young, she’s not ruined.” 

“She feels it.” 

Hélène turned away, trying to end the conversation, “Don’t we all.” 

Pierre walked closer to her and Hélène gripped the table until her knuckles turned white, she did very much not want to continue this conversation. 

“She isn’t like all of us, she’s good,” Pierre said, growing more frustrated. 

Hélène could not bring herself to disagree but she would not relent to him, “And why is this any concern of mine?” 

“Don’t you think she deserves an apology?!” Pierre raised his voice, his anger bubbling back, “And god knows she isn’t going to get one from Anatole-” 

“And who’s fault is that?!” Hélène shot back, standing up fast and turning to him, causing her chair to clatter to the floor. 

Pierre looked like he wanted to yell something more and brought his hand up as if to gesture but let it fall and sighed, defeated. He stomped out the door, muttering under his breath. She heard the door to his study slam and she sighed and crumpled back into her chair. 

Hélène knew he was right, but her pride was a hard thing to swallow. She decided to force herself to do so anyway, for Natasha was so young and so good, and thinking about what happened to her pierced Hélène’s heart. She glanced at the watch on her vanity that she never wore but kept out of convenience anyway. It was just past dinner time on Saturday, no doubt that the old broad Marya Dmitrievna would be home, watching Natasha like a hawk and she would never let Hélène anywhere near her precious goddaughter. 

She could visit tomorrow, early in the morning. Marya would be at church and Natasha would not be well enough to go yet. Hélène couldn’t predict if the other Rostova girl, Sonya, would refuse to leave Natasha’s side or if she would be dragged off to church, but no matter which happened she would not be much of a difficulty. Hélène had taken note of her shy manner at the opera and rightfully assumed she would be like that all of the time. 

Hélène sighed and rested her head in her hands, thinking of what she would say tomorrow. 

\----&\----

Hélène marched up the steps to Marya Dmitrievna’s house and steeled herself for anything that could happen. She normally let nothing get to her, a skill she had perfected as early as her teens, but the prospect of Natasha never forgiving her made her sick to her stomach. She remembered when she had first walked up these steps to invite Natasha to her ball. The way Natasha’s eyes sparkled and her smile shone like the stars had stirred something in Hélène. For a brief wistful minute, she had thought about stealing Natasha away herself. The fun they’d have, going to operas and shopping for beautiful dresses and watching Natasha’s face grow flustered when Hélène complimented her. And they’d go to balls and dance the night away, escaping off into the dark before someone could realize the scandal of two women dancing together. But the thought was hushed away, she knew it could never happen. Even if such things were deemed acceptable in society; for Anatole had laid his claim to Natasha, and he always gets what he wants. 

She drew in a breath and knocked on the door. It was soon answered by a maid who took one look at her and appeared to grow frightened, likely recalling the last time Hélène had shown up to this house. 

Hélène mustered up her sweetest smile and spoke softly to try to quell suspicion, “Hello there. I am here to speak with the young Countess.” 

The maid shifted her weight and swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, “Ah, um, the Countess is ill at the moment-” 

“Oh! That’s terrible!” Hélène cried before the woman could finish, “I had just known that my husband was over earlier to visit but of course I understand if she is no longer up to receiving anyone.” She added just enough ice into her voice to let the other woman know she knew that she was trying to keep her away. And that would not do, she must speak with Natasha. 

The maid gave her a tight-lipped smile, “Well yes I suppose, despite her condition, Countess Rostova would be elated to see a...friend.” She cracked the door open wider, motioning for Hélène to follow her in, “The Countess is up in her bedroom, but I shall have her come down to the drawing-room if you could give me just one moment.” 

Hélène smirked and made a flippant gesture with her hand, “Oh there’s really no need for that. I don’t mind greeting her up there, wouldn’t want to trouble the poor girl anymore.” 

The maid bowed her head, “Very well.” She led Hélène up the stairs and stopped in front of the last room at the end of the hall, knocking on the door. “Ma’am?” She said through the door, “Countess Bezukova is here to see you.” 

Hélène heard a muffled, “Send her in” from behind the door and felt the slightest sense of victory at Natasha not refusing to see her. 

The maid opened the door and beckoned for Hélène to go in before closing it and leaving them alone. 

Hélène bowed her head, “Countess Rostova, wonderful to see-”

“Please.” Natasha cut her off, her voice sounding distant and cold in a way that was slightly off-putting to Hélène, “Call me Natasha.”

Hélène nodded and tried to smile, “Natasha. It is great to see you looking well.” 

Natasha looked up from her seat on her bed to gaze at Hélène, looking confused and exhausted, “Why have you come, Countess? What more could you possibly have to say to me after the fiasco with your brother?”

“I- I have come to apologize. What I did, goading you into attending that ball with my brother, while I knew his history. That was wicked.” 

Natasha nodded, “It was.” 

Hélène startled, for one of the first times in her life, she did not know what to say. She was prepared for crying and screaming and eventual forgiveness and a tearful goodbye. She was not prepared for this cold and tired anger. It upset her more than she cared to admit to see Natasha this broken, this worn down. And if she were being honest, it reminded her of herself. The way she was jaded to the world, holding nearly everyone at arm's length, because the world had taught her to not let anyone close to prevent herself from being hurt. She didn’t want that for Natasha, she wanted Natasha to continue living her life as she had when they first met, full of love and optimism, and to find someone who appreciated that and was as open to love as she was. Not her brother, who saw love as a fickle game to be played exclusively on his own terms, and certainly not herself, who would refuse to allow herself to genuinely love. 

Noticing the upset look on Hélène’s face and possibly misreading it, Natasha spoke again, “What? What do you want me to say? That just because you apologized it means everything's okay? Well it’s not! I’m- I’m not.” Tears were starting to fall from Natasha’s eyes as she started to yell and while it broke Hélène’s heart she was almost relieved at the display of emotion. 

Against everything that was in her telling her to do the opposite, Hélène knelt in front of Natasha and reached out a hand to grab the younger woman’s. 

Natasha pulled her hand back with a sob, “Don’t!” She yelped, and her tears were flowing more heavily now, leaving trails and blotchy spots on her skin, “You don’t get to- you don’t get to try and do..that! Not when this is all your fault! This-” Another sob tore from her and Natasha began to tremble, “This never would’ve happened if we hadn’t met!” Natasha screamed and threw her head into her hands, shaking now. 

Hélène sat there on the floor, feeling more helpless than she had in years, she wanted to take Natasha in her arms, to hold her and stroke her hair and assure her that everything was going to be okay but she was fairly certain Natasha did not want anything to do with her. 

Surprisingly though, Natasha looked up at her with such pain in her eyes and tentatively reached out her arms to Hélène. 

Hélène took this as a sign that Natasha wanted her to hug her and Hélène tried not to be too happy about it. This was not a gesture of Natasha’s forgiveness, she needed to hug someone and Hélène was there. She could not let herself think otherwise. Hélène leaned in slowly and wrapped her arms around her, feeling herself start to tremble as well. Natasha threw her arms around her neck and buried her head in her chest, drenching Hélène’s dress with her constant flow of tears. Hélène lifted a hand to stroke her hair and murmured meaningless words of comfort into her ear. 

They stayed that way for quite a while as Natasha cried herself out and began to calm down. Eventually, she pulled her arms away from Hélène and raised a hand to wipe at her eyes. 

“You know.” Natasha said and laughed, harshly, “I think I always wished it were you.” 

Hélène tilted her head, confused at the turn their conversation had taken. “Wished what were me?” 

Natasha met her eyes again, this time with a look of love and tenderness that Hélène recognized from her, “I wished you were the one who planned to take me away. I always preferred your company to your brother’s. And something in the way your gaze has always made me feel.” 

“Natasha I-” 

Natasha brought a hand to the older woman’s face, startling her with the sudden display of affection that was incredibly opposite to her attitude towards her at the start of her visit, “You know,” She said thoughtfully, “You and Pierre are more similar than you both think.” 

Had it been anyone else to say this, Hélène would have bristled and lashed at them for saying something so insulting. But in this moment, she was simply savoring the feeling of Natasha’s warm palm pressed against her face. 

“You’re both... lost.” She stared deeply into Hélène’s eyes, trying to read what she was feeling, studying her, “And there’s so much more to both of you than people think.” 

Hélène shook her head, drawing herself back into reality, “I suppose that is true for most people Nata-” She was cut off by the sudden sensation of warm lips pressed to hers. She relished in the feeling for just a second before gently pushing the other girl away. 

“Natasha,” She sighed, “We can’t do this.” 

Natasha looked at her indignantly, “And why is that? I should think you would not be one to care about the societal norms, especially when they are so...cruel.” 

Hélène bit back what she was planning to reply out of curiosity, “Cruel?” 

Natasha nodded curtly, “Yes! So cruel if they dare look down upon love.” 

Hélène chuckled, this girl was unlike anyone she had ever encountered, yet she felt herself agreeing. 

“No dear, it isn’t that.” Hélène took Natasha’s hand, desperate for more contact, “I have done horrible things to you Natasha, and so it isn’t right for me to be in your life after I have hurt you so.” 

Natasha moved her other hand on top of Hélène’s, “But- I forgive you.” 

Hélène shook her head, she wanted nothing more than to kiss Natasha again, let her know she felt the same way, though she was pretty sure Natasha had figured that out for herself, but she knew it would not be the best for Natasha. She deserved someone better, and with whom she could live out the happy, gracious life she was due. 

Hélène breathed out, calming her emotions down, “I don’t think you should. And I can’t have you wasting your life on me.” 

Natasha pulled her hands away and brought them to rest on Hélène’s shoulders, staring straight into her eyes, “How would spending my life with the one I love be wasting it?” 

Hélène never got the chance to answer for at that moment the door banged open. 

“YOU!” Marya Dmitrievna screamed from the doorway, “How dare you share your face here again?! After everything you’ve done!” She barked, glaring at them with such intensity Hélène was sure her skin and bones would melt right away from the force of it. 

The great and terrible dragon, as she was known throughout Moscow, began marching towards them Hélène instinctively cowered away as Natasha fruitlessly tried to reason with the fierce woman. 

Marya grabbed Hélène by the back neckline of her dress and yanked her to her feet with an impressively scary strength. She pulled and pushed Hélène towards the door all while Natasha cried out, “Please! No! Let her stay! Marya you’re hurting her!! Marya!” 

All her cries fell on deaf ears as Marya’s rage built and built. How dare this woman have the audacity to enter her house and to be up in Natasha’s room embracing her? 

Marya shoved Hélène down the stairs, not caring as she stumbled and fell over the steps. When she reached the bottom, Marya’s voice rang out, strangely calm compared to her screaming, “I never want to see you in this house again.” Though Marya’s voice was quieter and calmer, the iciness made it almost scarier than her shouting. 

As Hélène nodded and stumbled out the door, still in shock, she heard a cry full of hurt from Natasha’s window, “I will always love you! Do not forget!” 

Hélène crumpled into the snow at Natasha’s words, for she had never heard something she knew so certainly to be true in her life. She cradled her face in her hands and there she sat, weeping and trembling in the cold, on the lawn of a house in which she was not welcome. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day, just saying :D


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